Stop All the Clocks
by Rose6
Summary: Sometimes you don't realize what you have until its gone


Title: Stop all the Clocks.  
  
Author: Rose; rosenfairy@hotmail.com  
  
Summary: Well there's this coffin…………  
  
Author's note: Um this one kinda happened. I say down one day to write something else, opened this poem and this just wrote itself. No names are mentioned, and thus you can imagine it to be anyone you want to, I know who I wrote it for, but you are free to make the characters anyone you want them to be. Livvy I hope you have somehow managed to forgive me for making you cry and that you have by now down graded me to intense dislike instead of hate.  
  
Disclaimer: Did I mention names? I don't believe I did……. Therefore they are mine all mine, ooooh don't ya hate that DEK, I use your characters and use a loophole to get out of it. Very educational show you have sir. As I said no names are mentioned, hell for all I know it was a vision of the future. The only person who may have issues with this is W.H. Auden, and I am dreadfully sorry for the use and abuse of the classic poem "Stop all the Clocks".  
  
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"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,  
  
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,  
  
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum  
  
Bring out the coffin"  
  
It was here he broke down, his pale quivering form seemingly collapsing with intense pain, his heart broken cries letting all assembled into his mind and heart, his despair, his deafening numbing pain. She was gone, his life was gone and yet he remained, gone far away into the silent land and lost from his life forever.  
  
This was it, this was his eulogy, his one last act as her husband, and he had taken the easy way out…. A poem. A poem that described everything she was to him, and yet described nothing because what she meant to him was not described, It was felt, cherished………….forever gone.  
  
"Let the mourners come"  
  
The memories he should have shared here, the thoughts he should have shared with these people who had also loved her, he couldn't. He had written them, remembered them, seen every one of them in glittering painful scenes within his head. But once, once he would have remembered them in living color, In vibrant living three dimensional color. He'd have seen the spirit in her eyes and known he would see it again, her smile had meant so much and yet never enough because he knew he would see it again and it would mean something new each time. Now, now he couldn't know that. Now every single memory had the same lustre as one of those old time shows on TV. The ones where no matter how much you love seeing them, how much they make you laugh, they can never have that same beauty and power as before because you know that look, that laugh, that moment is all you'll have, its gone now and there shall never be anymore. So he had settled with a poem, he couldn't share those moments, he couldn't speak of how he would miss her, how he loved her. Because even now he couldn't enunciate that, he couldn't describe it, those things to him were not something he talked about they were something he breathed. Pulling himself up, he continued on, his voice shaking and wavering with every word, every breath, every thought.  
  
"Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead  
  
Scribbling on the sky the message She Is Dead"  
  
The moment he said that his eyes opened wide in shock, they rolled slowly back into his head while his voice stuttered, broke and silenced out with the effort of trying to keep himself upright and conscious. It was the first time he had said it, the word 'gone' had been used often, but never 'dead' and now it was said, he'd just admitted to himself she was never coming back. Never, never, never, somehow he would have to live the rest of his life without her, no the rest of his 'time', without her it was not life.  
  
"Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,  
  
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.  
  
She was my North, my South, my East and West,  
  
My working week and my Sunday rest,  
  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song"  
  
My everything, my little piece of heaven, hell, life and liberty, my reason for living, the very breath that sustained my being, my everything. Sent to me so I could glimpse all the world could offer, all the good in life, all that heaven could provide.  
  
"I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong."  
  
And with this thought the pain grew too great, he fell onto the coffin, hugging it to him and dropping the paper from which he read. It was almost as if he was attempting to join her, to become one with her lifeless body and allow himself to spend forever with her, in nothingness if need be, to spend forever dead but dead with her, then a life or a moment without her. Then as if he suddenly realized this impossible his body began to slide off the coffin, began to slide to the ground, to rest beneath her and weep for all they had lost and all he would forever be without.  
  
Walking up to him his father wrapped an arm loosely around his shoulders and pulled him to his feet. Held him up, as his body sagged, as all strength left his being and he gave up trying to fight to live on without her, he just hung there. Never even noticing as his father grabbed the paper and continued for him, putting a final and definitive close on the life of his son's young bride and allowing them all to see exactly how his son believed life would be lived from now on.  
  
"The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;  
  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;  
  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.  
  
For nothing now can ever come to any good."  
  
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The poem used here is 'Stop all the Clocks' by W. H. Auden, it is like my favorite poem. Anyway, I am sorry about the death, but I am highly impressionable, and I was led by example……………Ally. 


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